YOUR Strange Politics correspondent was thrown a sitting duck this week with Pauline Hanson declaring war on squat toilets.

Yet some hog wild news from across the pond piqued such interest it could not be ignored.

A select few British theatre types will soon be slugging down a scrumdiddlyumptious ale made from the late genius author Roald Dahl's sweat and skin flakes.

This column touched on the politics of commercialising death back in January when companies were desperate to cash in on David Bowie's demise to garner cheap publicity on social media.

The company behind Crocs - those horrid rubber sandals favoured by committed celibates - was one of the worst offenders, posting a tasteless image of its loathsome footwear semi-obscured by Bowie's trademark lightning bolt.

But this new case is an example of morbid cash-ins done right - and with the permission of the deceased's family.

Mr Twit's Odious Ale has been created using particles swabbed from Roald Dahl's famed armchair and writing desk to culture all the yeast needed for the brewing process.

It will be served at the Dinner at the Twits in London - a night of theatrical dining inspired by Dahl's book The Twits, a tale of a couple so repulsive they would spread glue on tree branches to catch birds for pies.

Little chiddlers act out The Twits:
The Twits' worm spaghetti scene gets a dramatic interpretation from some young actors.

Bird pie complete with whopping avian talons poking from the crust feature on the event's promotional photos alongside a glass of Roald Dahl's fizzy sweat, and the event's website promises the night will be governed by "the worst hosts ever".

The exact menu has been jealously guarded.

For an idea of what kind of squalid dining the evening might entail, take this quote from the book.

"By sticking out his tongue and curling it sideways to explore the hairy jungle around his mouth, he was always able to find a tasty morsel here and there to nibble on."

The novel idea raises all kinds of possibilities, especially considering there are already commercially available cheeses made from toe and belly button bacteria.

Chill your scotch with one of Walt Disney's frozen toes (though that whole cryogenically frozen story was, alas, a myth) or fry up onions grown on a bed of former prime ministers' tongues, perhaps.

It is probably a good thing the effervescent author died when he did considering his motivation for writing The Twits was to "do something against beards", which he despised about as much as the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory film.

A walk through any major city in the Western world's more hipster-infested areas would likely have triggered a heart attack, anyway.

Just consider these wonderful lines from the book.

"So what I want to know is this. How often do all these hairy-faced men wash their faces? It is only once a week, like us, on Sunday nights? And do they shampoo it? Do they use a hair dryer?

"Do they rub hair tonic in to stop their faces from going bald? Do they go to a barber to have their hairy faces cut and trimmed or do they do it themselves in front of the bathroom mirror with nail-scissors?"